


When left alone in Winterfell

by reliquexia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angry sansa, F/M, Oblivious Jon, Sansa-centric, jonsa, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquexia/pseuds/reliquexia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fic: Jon left Sansa and Winterfell for Dany and the Throne but at the end he knows he belongs to Sansa (nothing have happened between them yet but there’s this tension we’ve seen through season 6) so he goes back to Winterfell but Sansa is angry at him for leaving her, abandon her, feeling she’s not enough, etc…</p>
            </blockquote>





	When left alone in Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abi117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi117/gifts).



> This was sent by abi117 on tumblr, who I also have to thank for my AO3 invite :D

It seemed unnecessary, the amount of brute force the Lady of Winterfell put into kneading the dough, but if the kitchen cooks noticed they didn’t say much. Bursts of flour swept the air, and dusted the woman’s hair like snow. Snow like the flurries whipping about outside, forcing her to stay put indoors, away from the Godswoods where she spent most of her days praying for her cousin’s return. Snow like his namesake, that he so easily left, both in WInterfell, and by name as he almost gladly skipped away to King’s Landing to formally accept his title as Prince.

It was the stupid snow that delayed his arrival it seemed, even though he could brave the ice beyond the Wall for his Wildling maid. Oh yes, she heard the stories all right. Tormund had no filter, and in his attempt to woo her closest aide, Lady Brienne, he drunkenly spilt all the events leading up to him ‘miraculously’ meeting her. And they say the freefolk know of no romance, she thought, smirking angrily at her beyond abused dough. 

Where was his honor then? His stupid honor that prompted him to leave her alone in Winterfell, with no family, while he went to do the right thing for Westeros. The only family she had were the spirits of Starks past that haunted her hallways as she swept through them in fits of insomnia. She even selflessly told him to take Ghost along so that he would remain safe, and all she has is a dying firepits, and the soft snores of her handmaiden in a cot in her Solar at night. 

Oh sure his honor could be abandoned for a pretty wild thing. All men were the same she thought, more irritated than justified. She wouldn’t admit to herself that what hurt more was feeling rejected. That she wasn’t lady enough to keep him, and that he would never see through her past with Ramsey, and Joffrey, and all the other horrible lords in her tainted dishonorable life.

But Sansa was her mother’s daughter. The Tully in her kept on about family and duty, and it was that same mantra that made her sprinkle the precious little rosemary left in the hardcakes because they were Jon’s favorite. And she silently prayed for his safe return again. That the intrigue of the white haired beauty, word which had even reached up to WInterfell, would not keep him from coming home.

Late at night, she felt a thunderous sound boom outside the walls of the castle. Waking up the Mormont guard outside her door, she alerted the people of her keep to stand guard for whatever monstrosity stood outside. What she didn’t expect to see was a dragon next to Ghost. It seemed her cousin found a way to come back through the untimely blizzard. 

“You’re back early.” she stated. Sansa willed him to see the frustration in her mind. He now had Southron sun kissed skin like the Targaryens of past painted in so many of her childhood fairytale tomes. The more she searched his face, the more foreign and new it appeared. When he tiredly walked over to embrace her, she could count all the new freckles on his nose. Ten too many for him to be her Jon Snow. 

If Jon noticed her passivity, he did not mention it. Nor did he mention it the next morning, when she responded to all his questions nonverbally. A week had passed until the servants began whispering about Lady Sansa’s treatment of their King. It was unbecoming, she knew. But her heart had locked itself up again, in fear, and in rejection. Every time she passed her cousin’s path, the mix of emotions left her broken and confused as when she first saw Joffrey’s true side. 

Jon kept to himself mostly, training his new pet in a field in the woods nearby. He was so foreign, yet so much the same boy she grew up with when he laughed at the bawdy jokes Tormund seemed to unsuccessfully throw at a blushing Podrick. 

Slowly she warmed up and began to have small conversations during dinner with him. Just simple things, like is the food to your liking? And as her fate would have it, just then was when Westeros needed their prince more than ever to fight the things beyond the Wall. It was why Jon was sent up first with his dragon, and why his bride to be would follow from the South with her allies. They would fight with glory, and leave Sansa alone to rule. 

She was praying in the old Sept for strength, and safety of her people when he asked her to leave Winterfell for the safety of the Iron Islands. Theon was there. Her other cousin who got her to him from the clutches of a madman. It would be the safest place away from the White Walkers that wasn’t South. He knew she’d die before going South. 

“I cannot leave my people here to fend for themselves. Winterfell is our home.” she said, sweeping the brown wool skirts she began to favor as of late. His eyes clouded as he grabbed her shoulders. 

“Give me this one indulgence before I possibly never return. I need you safe if I am to save our people, and not rush back in worry here every time we find out a herd has reached farther south,” he implored. She knew her anger was petty, especially amidst a war when she should be helping the women pack food for the imminent fight. But her heart was so tired. She wanted to win, just this once.

“You didn’t seem to be in a rush when you left for your Queen, or your Targaryen crown,” she commented. It was Jon’s turn to flash anger and irritation in his darkened.

“I did this for you. I left my claim to the throne, and her hand in marriage so that you would not be married off to some too old to father, or too young to wed lordling here,” he said.

Sansa stood there in surprise. What did he mean, he wasn’t betrothed? 

“You never told me this,” she said, sad, but still stubborn. “Jon, you did not even bother to inform me about this decision, how was I to know?” What did this mean for them?

“When I saw how cold you became whence I came back, I thought mayhaps you had heard about my choice and were disgusted by me. My true father seemed an impulsive and perverse man of the stories,” he finally relented, picking at the frayed embroidered birds on her collar, eyes filled with guilt as they fixated on her inflamed skin. 

“And here I thought you rejected me,” she whispered with purpose, pulling up his hand to thread her loosened hair. The last pretense of a barrier seemed to dissolve between them, as she leaned in for a perfectly chaste kiss in front of the Seven. Old gods or new, she didn’t care. Sansa Stark deserved this shred of happiness before it could all be torn away. And Jon, bless his soul, did not push for anything further, content at the feel of her lips softly at his, hands cradling the fire kissed hair he dreamt too many nights of. 

“Did not your Septa always tell stories ordering young ladies to obey their lords?” he whispered eyes closed, lips still to her mouth. 

“Oh? And does this unspoken for woman in your stories have a name, or a husband?” she spoke, words bent as he left little space for her to speak between. 

“I beg of you as Lord Stark of Winterfell to his spoken for Lady wife, please seek refuge in the Iron Islands. Yara Greyjoy is someone I trust with your safety from the people there. And the Islands I trust on saving you from any beasts that escape a dragon’s wrath.” he said, with so much intent, and hope, Sansa had to kiss him again. 

“If it helps you protect our men, then I shall go. But only for the sake of Winterfell. The rest of Westeros can freeze, for all I care.” she spoke, giving away to her last resistance.

“I would never expect any different from my Queen.” he vowed with promise.


End file.
